Proof
by RuthieGreen
Summary: Just exactly what went on so late at the City Morgue? & What else happened afterwards? Please see Fallenbelle2's story for the Julia and Brax conversation. I thought this was a one-shot but turns out not. Thank you I'dBeDelighted for edit credits. Thank you Maureen and the show runners for your characters. I promise that although I may bend them, I will not break them...
1. Chapter 1

" **Proof"**

 **Warning: Season 10 reference-takes place after** _ **From Murdoch to Eternity**_ _._

# # #

"Doctor?" He tossed his grey jacket casually over a peg on the wall. "What do you suppose your husband thinks you are doing right now, and with whom?" he asked with a wink.

Her brilliant smile was eager as she came closer. "Why…I told him the _truth_. You wanted to show me what you acquired on your trip and I was curious to share your finds." She frowned prettily then. "This _is_ our first opportunity to meet since you got back."

He began adjusting his shirt and dropped his voice even though there was no one to overhear. "And he was not suspicious at all about his wife staying at her work so late?"

"My husband trusts me. He also has no interest in exotic biological samples unless they are directly related to one of his investigations," she waved her hand dismissively. "Therefore he is oblivious."

"Ah, Murdoch. A barmpot in blissful ignorance regarding his wife. I'm not surprised…" he mumbled. "No disrespect…"

Julia snorted. "And _your_ wife, Inspector? What did you tell _her_?"

"That I was going to confer with the good Doctor Ogden on this itchy rash I also gained on my little trip south, which she is after me to stop scratching."

"She let you out of her sight?" Julia was surprised.

"Well, she's forgiven me for deceiving her about my return from Panama, even tried to say she knew about substituting another man for me and was just playing along." Thomas rolled his eyes. "I've spent the better part of a week making it up to her, on a very short leash I might add, and I've finally gotten away." He pointed to his arm where the sleeve was now rolled up, revealing odd red bumps and obvious evidence of his fingernails digging into the flesh. "I'd rather see you about it than that hack she set me up with! Daft woman! That medical crank wanted to poke me with one of those damned needles. I was not going to have that, not bloody likely." He resisted scratching with effort. "You think it is a parasite?"

She took his arm and examined it. "Yes, I finally do have a diagnosis for you." She tapped her finger on an over-sized book perched on the lab bench, unfolded to a rather hideous full - colour plate. The inspector immediately looked away, she saw with satisfaction. "You have cutaneous _Leishmaniosis_ , which is transmitted through the _phlebotomine_ sand-fly, a common tropical disease I have only seen it in medical journals before, never in a live patient! It is absolutely fascinating to see."

"If you say so, doctor. But can you help me?" he asked anxiously.

"Of course, I shall try. Your infection is at the beginning stages, so I have concocted a treatment you can use that should help…" Julia saw his face colour. "And no—no needles," she smirked, then said airily: "We'd need William again for that –and he's the last person either of wishes to see right now, considering what we are about to do."

Thomas immediately recalled his 'gold cure' episode. _The last time with Murdoch and a needle was beyond embarrassing._ His eyes rounded in alarm to both suggestions. "Never!"

"Well, enough about that. Are we not wasting time?" she asked, eyes glittering with expectation.

He nodded emphatically, licking his lips. "I'll say…"

"I take it you think they are both in the dark about what we are doing here?" Julia was still a bit on guard.

He clapped his hands together in glee, his rash forgotten. "I sure to hell hope so. I canna wait to start—been dreamin' of this all day in fact."

"Myself as well…" She rose gracefully. "Let me slip out of this to get more comfortable."

Thomas watched her pull the tie free and lower her apron. "Er…doctor. Mebee we should mind the door? Put th'wood in th'ole so to speak. It wouldn't do to get caught out."

Her face flushed while she shoved down her feelings of guilt about sneaking around. "I quite agree. Sometimes I think my morgue is some sort of thoroughfare, but right now we are secure. Everyone's been sent home for the night and I have left word I did not wish to be disturbed." She took her large key ring and locked both entrances, ensuring complete privacy. "There. Now, shall we begin?"

"My pleasure, doctor. Any road up, I can't think of another soul I'd rather do this with than you, right here, right now," Thomas said earnestly.

Julia blushed. "I am flattered, Inspector, and I will admit, quite excited."

"Prepare to be thrilled. If you are ready…come closer. I just need to open this up."

Thomas placed a large battered leather case on the workbench and extracted a pint-sized bottle. Taking the stopper out, he poured a dram of the pungent liquid into two small glasses. "I think we'll start with this." He handed her one. "It's called 'Pox,' of all things, made from corn, sugar and wheat. I have seven more bottles of different ones to try, but this'll take the brass off your buttons, as we used to say in the regiment. Bottom's up!"

Both took their slugs straight down and gasped in unison at the effect of the unusual liquor as it burned its way down. "Oh my, how exotic!" Julia finally spoke. "Seven more, you say. Are they all like this?"

# # #

William fitted his key into the morgue lock and turned it, listening carefully to the noise on the other side of the door. Julia's Edison Victrola was blaring a jaunty tune and he heard laughter. He was immediately concerned that some of the constables had commandeered the morgue and the record-player for a secret revelry of some kind-not an unheard of event, despite the dire warnings they got after last time. He was angry now for two reasons: Being sent here at the behest of Mrs. Brackenreid to locate her husband was just the start of his irritation and the men within were going to get the full extent of his outrage for disrespecting the dead as well as interfering with his wife's domain. He drew in a full breath with which to announce himself, took the handle in his hand and strode through the doorway…

To be greeted by the sight of Julia and the inspector _dancing!_

Well, perhaps not dancing, exactly… It appeared Julia and the inspector were drunkenly holding each other up and giggling to boot, insensible to being observed.

" _What on earth…?"_ William was perplexed for only a small moment. The smell of liquor seeped past the usual chemical and biological odors of the morgue, he saw several bottles and two glasses laid out in the workbench. He opened his mouth then shut it, twice, unable to find anything to say which the situation merited. He overheard something about Julia complaining her feet hurt from getting stepped on and the inspector complain about how much he missed his wife while he was on his adventure. William almost moved forward to announce himself then decided against it.

 _I will tell Mrs. Brackenreid I found her husband and not to worry. The way I see it, they will both get the punishment they so richly deserve from the massive hangover they are going to have_. He grinned wickedly. _And I won't be quiet about it either!_

With that he closed and re-locked the door. _And I don't have to yet admit I still have a key…._

 ** _# # #_**

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	2. Chapter 2

_Someone ordered this chapter?_

 **# # #**

 **Chapter Two**

William was up, washed and immaculately dressed and had Julia's breakfast sitting on a tray — eggs, toast and coffee. He sat on the bed and looked at her snoring quite loudly, without any mercy …. "Good morning Doctor! Or should I say 'Professor' this morning? I brought your breakfast!"

"What…?" Julia was jolted by the sound of his voice, the smell of food and the bed moving in a nauseating manner. Bleary eyes beheld William smiling broadly as he reminded her of the time, gave her an overly detailed weather report accompanied by his day's schedule.

"Your class starts at seven-thirty this morning?" his voice spoke, raising in question.

His cheerful expression grated on her ears.

William continued animatedly. "I have ordered your carriage for seven-ten, I assume you'll be ready."

 _Thirty minutes away…._ She groaned loudly and pulled a blanket over her head to block the painful light streaming in from the window as William flung the heavy curtains open.

"What time did you get in last night?" William persisted. "I slept so soundly I didn't hear you. Would you like to tell me all about your evening?"

Julia's muffled voice answered, "Ummm … later, I have to get ready." She wasn't sure if she'd be able to make it to the washroom without embarrassing herself, so she remained unmoving. "You go on to work, William. I'll be along. Will you please send up a maid up to help me dress?"

# # #

The station house was already bustling when Inspector Brackenreid slipped into the office via his private door. Across the bull-pen, William saw the man close the window blinds and slump carefully at his desk … calculating exactly when to approach for maximum impact. He therefore waited until his superior rummaged in a desk drawer for a headache remedy, coming up empty, then remembering there was no more scotch in the decanter. Satisfied his timing was excellent, William picked up a report and marched past Henry and George who were banging away at their typewriting machines. Knocking loudly on the door frame, he didn't wait to be admitted. "Good morning sir!" he said brightly and somewhat loudly, interrupting Brackenreid's frustrated muttering by the sideboard.

"Murdoch…." He shielded his eyes and moaned. "Have a pity on me, will ye'? I'm buggered." Thomas peered up and saw only a studiously bland face, becoming immediately suspicious of the Detective's motives. _Not the first time he's needled me for tying one on_. Thomas experienced an involuntary shudder at the thought that Dr. Ogden may have told all to her husband about last night, so he looked again to see if Murdoch was being more than his usual pompous and irritating self. It wouldn't do to run afoul of him when it comes to his wife, he warned himself. Murdoch only appeared to be having a little trouble hiding his typical disgust about the hangover, but if that was the extent of it Thomas was willing to exhale. _Still ... it is going to be a long day…._

# # #

Margaret paced by the telephone, reaching over to the handset and then clenching her fists in agitation. She was regretting asking Detective Murdoch to stop by and wondered if it was too late to call the whole thing off. _Thomas would be furious!_ she guessed. _But then again, so am I!_ She vacillated between worry and outrage as she stalked the hallway, and was reaching for the telephone for the umpteenth time when the mechanical doorbell rang. Startled, she jumped and let out a mild curse.

 _Good Heavens! You are not a child. Get yourself in hand, Margaret!_ She said under her breath. She touched her hair and smoothed her skirts before going to the door to open it.

"Good afternoon, Detective." Margaret managed to say politely.

"Mrs. Brackenreid. I came as soon as I could." Hat in hand he stood on the porch, looking at her pinched face. _Things are worse than I thought._ After giving the Inspector a rough time most of the day, he'd left him 'resting his eyes' with orders not to be disturbed. Julia hadn't kept their luncheon date, begging off that she needed to confer with one of her colleagues. William expected that was an excuse, but saw no reason for rubbing anything in further — his wife, and his boss, were both suffering enough from over-imbibing. Still standing on the porch, he cleared his throat softly. "Mrs. Brackenreid, you wanted to talk … privately?"

"Yes," she hesitated, then relented, "come in please." She took in as deep a breath as her corset would allow. "In the living room, I think."

Margaret offered the detective a seat while ambivalence assailed her. Both of them sat stiffly, and Margaret's heart pounded as the moments crept on. _This was a mistake, a huge mistake,_ she finally decided. "Detective, I am so very sorry, but I have changed my mind. The matter is … all taken care of…."

"I see." William was concerned, but wasn't going to press the issue, not with the wife of his superior, a woman whom he held in high esteem. "Then I'll be going." He rose to take his leave, when she stopped him abruptly.

"I have to know — I have to know why you lied to me Detective Murdoch," she said angrily. "That is something I cannot abide and which I never expected from you. Last night you told me you'd found my husband and I was not to worry. Either you lied to me and never found him or you lied to me about there being no need to worry."

"Mrs. Brackenreid, I did find him, and he did get home to you did he not? I saw no reason to worry you further. It's hardly the first time the Inspector has over indulged. By my observation he's been under the weather and recovering from his hangover all day." He lifted the corner of his mouth wryly. "And it appears there was no 'hair of the dog' left in his office this morning to help him out … pity, that."

Margaret's head was wagging left and right. "My husband was drunk again, of course I know that." She wrung her hands. "It's just that he said he was getting his rash looked after by your wife and instead he came home inebriated." Her face felt like it was on fire, but she brought it up defiantly anyway. "He must have been with some woman — I saw the signs on his shirt. And _you!_ You covered up for him!" Margaret could not believe she blurted that out and fought an urge to slap the detective. " _How could you!?_ " she declared, angry with the detective, because it was too painful and humiliating to consider the idea of Thomas being unfaithful to her. She had entertained that notion the whole time he was away in exotic southern places, which — she imagined — were populated with nearly naked native women. It only got worse as the months wore on. She hated herself for those thoughts, and him for making her have them. Mooning over that young man pretending to be Thomas was just a little payback for her hurt feelings.

William finally saw what Mrs. Brackenreid was driving at — the Inspector probably came home not only smelling of alcohol but with some of Julia's makeup or lip-rouge on his clothing. After that incident with Rosa Hamilton, he imagined Mrs. Brackenreid would be particularly sensitive. "Mrs. Brackenreid! Please rest assured, I located your husband, and he was still with Julia. They were both trying out the various native alcoholic beverages he brought back from his trip to Panama." He sought her face. "Julia is as hung over as the Inspector today. I'm positive there was nothing untoward happening — in fact, what I overheard was how much your husband missed you while he was away.…" He couldn't tell her about the music and the drunken attempt at dancing as it would sound much worse than it actually was.

Margaret was still while the words sank in. She was mortified by the whole situation, almost feeling worse now that she did before. "I am sorry detective, I should never have.…"

"We need not speak of this again," he suggested, trying to make his way to the door. He was hoping to make good his escape, but she looked so forlorn. "Mrs. Brackenreid. I was no happier than you about Julia getting intoxicated … but we cannot control them, can we?"

"No, I suppose not, much as I would like to. What is it about drink that is so compelling?" she asked, seeming to actually want an answer.

William stopped his retreat. "I believe the alcohol makes one want to drink more — a curse, an evil … or a disease, who knows exactly? I suppose I don't like to lose control of myself in that way, and I generally don't like the effects of alcohol, so I rarely consume it."

She was thoughtful. "So … when you found them, why did you not take your wife in hand and send Thomas on home?"

He grimaced. "Truth be told, they were both drunk as skunks, so to speak. I knew that they'd likely be feeling the evils of drink today … letting nature take its course as it were. Of course, I may have added to a certain amount of their misery…." he trailed off and smiled, seeing her face lighten up.

Margaret had no trouble imagining what that would have been, since Thomas let loose multiple times at home, with his complaints about _'Murdoch's noise and disapproval all day long, so I don't need it from you woman!_ ' "Ah … I see you what you mean. Thomas does say I nag too much, but perhaps I can communicate my point with kindness - _Kill_ them with kindness I believe is the term?" She looked up at him, testing him with her eyes. "We have both married complex people, have we not, Detective? Here we are, neither smokers nor drinkers, church-going, quiet, conservative … and yet those we care the most about are so very brash and outgoing — and have also seen fit to leave us at one time or another." She paused. "You were so very kind to me and the boys while Thomas was on his expedition. I have not thanked you enough."

"It was my pleasure, Mrs. Brackenreid; think nothing of it. You have always made me welcome in your home, it was the least I could do."

She sighed. William Murdoch was such a good man, with much in common with her husband, yet they were such different personalities. As handsome and kind as the Detective was, she preferred the spice of her emotionally broad and occasionally difficult husband. A curious wonderment came to her. "Do you think opposites attract? Is it no more complicated than that?"

He noticed she seemed to be talking less to him and more questioning herself, and had no ready answer. He paused for several moments. "Yes … and no," he equivocated. "I think that is the nature of love, Mrs. Brackenreid; Julia brings me such joy and contentment — and I suppose the occasional bit of … trouble." He grinned lopsidedly. "I think she is worth it and I would not trade her for the world."

Margaret agreed wholeheartedly. "Yes. Thomas is definitely worth it. Thank you — I am grateful." A twinkle entered her eyes. "And they each did come back, so that must be proof that we are worth it to them, does it not?" She saw him nod and smile, all her tension leaving her under his brown gaze. "So … Detective, would you care for a small snack? I happened to have made beef stew for dinner and I'd love to know your opinion of it. Perhaps I should prepare something else for Thomas' supper.…" She gave him a brilliant smile.

"If you insist.…" His eyes crinkled. "Perhaps he'd rather have pickled beets, the English do like their pickle…."

"Quite." She responded as she led the way into the kitchen, a plan forming in her mind. "Or haggis…?"

# # #

A/N: Thank you I'dBeDelighted for beta read and dialect coaching. I aim for authenticity!

This was another writing exercise to please you, the reader, with better efforts on my part. What do you think? One-eight-hundred-how's-my-writing? All comments encouraged/welcome.

My rationale for this fic was that Mrs. Brackenreid and William have some elements in common (abhorrence regarding alcohol) and that Julia and Brax have things in common (enjoyment of alcohol plus familiarity with blood and guts) but there are other parallels as well in these couples. For all that Brax complains to William about Julia wearing the pants in the family, Margaret is just more subtle in her exercise of marital power: and both men adore their wives; both women adore their husbands. What do you think about these two couples? Can you see other parallels?


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